


Camp Crystal Lake

by dizzy, waveydnp



Series: friday the thirteenth [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Broken Bone, M/M, Murder, Vomiting, description of blood and injury, original character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:29:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp
Summary: Something isn't quite the same at camp this year.





	Camp Crystal Lake

Dan can’t believe his luck. He’s imagined this moment in more ways than he could even hope to put a number to, so many locations and positions and various states of undress and somehow this is still different - and better - than anything his dreams had ever been able to conjure. 

Phil’s milky white chest and freckled shoulders on show, his long arms and even longer legs bare but this time it’s just for Dan. They’re not doing cannon balls off the docks or canoeing to one of the nearby islands. There are no campers here yet, no other counsellors around to see. The rest of them are still sat around the bonfire eating sticky roasted marshmallows and drinking too much beer and competing to see who can tell the scariest urban legends.

It’s just Dan and Phil in this cabin. They’d managed to sneak away from the group and now they’re here and Dan’s fantasies are finally coming true.

His mind is too full of _holy fuck_ and _I can’t believe this is happening_ to remember how exactly they ended up in one of the top bunks of Willow, but he does remember yanking Phil’s shirt off like it was on fire and immediately latching his mouth onto Phil’s neck. 

He’ll never ever forget what came next, the white hot swoop of his stomach at Phil’s answering groan, at Phil’s hands pushing into the front of Dan’s swim trunks. He’s had his dick touched before - but never, if he’s being honest, by anyone he’s spent so long pining after. He’d spent all the previous summer feeling blue balled by the way he thought he and Phil had _something_ but lacking the confidence to actually see it through. 

Apparently they both showed up to camp this year ready to make good on that connection, though. Dan’s back arches up and he makes an embarrassing breathy sound as Phil’s fingers wrap around him and tug. He wants more than this - he’s not even sure what, really, just more - and he’s so ready to ask for it when a piercing sound cuts through the room. 

Phil jerks back so quickly his head almost bumps on the ceiling. These bunks really weren’t made for people as tall as they are. “What was that?” 

Dan’s mind is too foggy to even give a fuck. “Someone probably got too pissed and fell in the lake or something,” he says, grabbing needily at Phil to haul him back down. 

Phil’s still frowning, though. “They were awfully drunk. Should we go check?” 

“No.” Dan’s not a thoughtful person sometimes. Especially not when he’s about to get off with someone he’s fancied for _ages_. “They’ll be fine. I’m sure someone else was sober.” 

He doesn’t actually believe that. The only reason he and Phil were sober is because they were too distracted sitting on a log together ‘catching up’ and slowly gravitating in closer until their legs were pressed together and Dan worked up the nerve to rest his hand on Phil’s thigh. Alcohol didn’t hold nearly the appeal that flirting did. 

Or this does. 

He’s just managed to coax Phil back when when there’s another scream, this one closer. Phil sits up again, his frown intensifying. “Dan, that really didn’t sound good.”

Dan can’t argue this time. “Fuck.” He flings a hand dramatically over his eyes. He and Phil may not even have another chance to do this, not once the kids actually start to arrive. If it’s just someone fucking around and they stop for nothing Dan will be ready to throw them in the lake himself. 

He doesn’t try to stop the low, sad whine in his throat as Phil’s shirt goes back on. Phil laughs at him, then leans down and cups Dan’s face, kissing him on the mouth. “We’ll come back to this,” he promises. 

Dan feels flushed at how sexy Phil is when he says that, still straddling Dan as he buttons his shirt up. Dan reaches out and pushes his fingers against Phil’s thighs again just to feel him one more time before Phil climbs off of him and down the bunk ladder. 

He’s halfway down when they hear the next scream. This one is blood curdling, the likes of which Dan’s never heard before in his life. His stomach plunges and he feels the blood drain from his face as he looks at Phil. 

Phil feels it too, Dan can tell - something is very _very_ wrong. They spend a moment just searching each other’s faces, asking wordlessly what the hell they’re supposed to do now.

Dan wants to hide. He wants to lie the fuck down and pull the scratchy wool blanket over his head and hide like he used to when he was a kid, when every noise and shape in the dark was a threat and the only thing that felt safe was pretending it didn’t exist. 

There’s no pretending right now. A scream like that isn’t someone fucking around. He doesn’t know but he just knows - something terrible is happening outside the wooden walls of this cabin.

“Dan,” Phil hisses. “Fuck, Dan. What do we-”

Glass shatters somewhere in the distance. Another scream, this one clearly a man’s voice, and it’s formed into an actual word - “ _Run_.”

Dan watches horrified as Phil’s body wrenches to the side. Dan can hear him retching.

His heart is beating so fast he’s sure he’s going to be sick any moment as well. He tries to ask Phil if he’s alright but the only sound that leaves his throat is something horrible and ugly and afraid.

Phil is coughing. There’s another scream, closer this time, and then a voice shouting, “Shut the fuck up! He’ll hear you!”

The sounds are definitely getting closer. In a fit of absolute panic, Dan jumps the rest of the way down from the ladder and grabs Phil by the arm. He yanks down and says, “Under.” 

There’s barely enough room for their bodies under the bunks. The only reason Dan even knows a person fits here is because of that stupid game of hide and seek last year. He won because under the bed looks too narrow for a person thanks to the little ledge that comes down, but past that it opens up to more space. He and Phil are both just scrawny enough to be able to slide under it, even if the wood pushes painfully against his chest until he’s past it. 

His heart is pounding. “Dan,” Phil whispers, coming in behind Dan. He’s facing Dan, almost close enough for their noses to touch. “Should we go see if anyone needs help?” 

“No,” Dan whispers back. “No, we’re not going out there.” 

There’s another scream, a throatier desperate one. It’s so close - just outside the window, it sounds like. Dan’s entire body goes completely still as the door to the cabin is flung open. 

Phil can’t see anything but Dan’s face, but Dan can see around Phil, just a sliver of the scene. 

What he sees is… shoes. They look like trainers, semi-nice ones, but half of one is drenched in red. It leaves a thick print on the wooden floor when whoever is there walks - staggers - inside. “Help,” the person says, and Dan thinks he recognizes the voice - Roger? Robert? One of the new ones. 

There are more footsteps. Phil shrinks into Dan. They’re both trembling, both trying not to speak or breathe. 

What happens next doesn’t need a visual to be forever locked into Dan’s memory. The sound itself is enough, followed by a gurgle that probably wanted to be a scream, and then Robert’s body slumping to the floor. 

Dan can see the second pair of shoes now, thick black work boots covered in dirt. He stares at the boots so he doesn’t look at the empty face staring right at them. The boots take a few steps into the cabin, and stop. Dan hears the wardrobe door open. He hears it close again. He watches the boots step back around the body, and - 

Out. Out of the cabin. 

Phil lets out a desperate breath. It still sounds too loud to Dan’s ears. He starts to turn his head, to look behind him, but Dan clamps his hand over Phil’s mouth and keeps him still. “Don’t look,” Dan whispers, in the quietest voice possible. Don’t look at the body. Don’t look at the pool of blood spreading around it. Just… don’t look. 

-

Time passes. Dan doesn’t let Phil look. They stare at each other wide-eyed, breaths heavy and frantic for so long Dan starts to feel light-headed.

Actually - fuck. He’s starting to hyperventilate. His inhales are getting shallower and faster instead of deeper and even. His head starts to spin. Is it possible to die from shock? Or fear?

His vision starts to blacken around the edges. The image of Phil’s face gets blurry and then suddenly something is shaking his shoulders. 

“Breathe!” Phil whisper-shouts. “Dan! Dan! You need to breathe. Look at me.”

Dan’s already looking at him. He never stopped looking at him, not for a single moment. Phil’s words make no sense. Nothing makes sense anymore. Phil was touching his dick and now they’re on the dirty floor under an ancient set of bunk beds and blood is inching across said floor getting closer to touching them every minute. Robert’s face is frozen in an expression of - nothing. He’s just nothing. 

He’s not Robert anymore. He’s just a sack of meat that’s leaking its juice out onto the floor.

Dan’s chest heaves, but he’s not getting any air into his lungs at all now. He can’t do this, he can’t pass out. He can’t leave Phil all alone. 

But he also can’t look at Robert’s dead face any longer, can’t keep his looping his last gurgled word over and over again. “ _Help_.”

Dan couldn’t help. No one could help. 

Pain suddenly blossoms on his cheek and a sharp noise echoes in his ears. Then a gasp, an awful gasp as he sucks in the air he’s starving for. His chest burns with it and there’s another gasp and he looks at Phil’s face, ashen, cheeks wet.

He’s crying. “Dan. Dan. I’m sorry. I thought you were going to— You can’t. I need you here. Don’t leave.”

Dan rolls over onto his back to relieve the pressure on his aching chest. He allows himself the small mercy of closing his eyes and reaches out blindly for Phil’s hand. He crushes Phil’s ice cold fingers and pulls his hand to his chest and focuses on breathing properly.

“I won’t,” he croaks. “I’m here, I’m sorry. Don’t look.”

“Who is it?” Phil asks, voice breaking on the last word. “Who is it?”

“Can’t tell,” Dan lies. “Just— promise me you won’t look.”

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” 

“We need to…” The words fall flat in Dan’s mouth, even though as soon as he thinks them he knows it’s true. “We need to get out of here.” 

“We can’t,” Phil immediately whispers. “Whoever that was - they’re still out there, Dan.” 

“I know.” The blood is going to get to them soon. It’ll touch Phil first, and Dan - his stomach turns. “But we need to go. Just - we need to find somewhere else. We’re in… fuck. We’re in Willow, right? So the cabin where they keep the art supplies is right by us? Let’s go there. That’s where they put our phones when they take them from us, right?. We can get there fast and… and we can ring the police.” 

And they won’t be in the same cabin with a dead boy anymore. 

Phil sounds terrified and small when he says, “Alright. Yeah. The phones are there.” 

Dan takes a deep breath. “Don’t go sideways, move down and go out by the foot of the bed. I think there’s enough room. And just - don’t look.” 

-

The supply cabin is within view the second they step foot out the door, leaving poor Robert behind. 

It’s so close, but it still feels impossible. The leaves and twigs are going to crunch underfoot. They trees seem taller and darker than they did before. Even the glow of the moon feels sickly. 

Where is everyone? Why can’t they hear anyone else? 

He thinks of Robert and wants to be sick. 

He doesn’t dare to whisper, just grabs Phil’s wrist and they walk with impossibly small, slow steps. 

The door is closed. “Fuck,” Dan whispers, a hint of a sound. All the doors here have squeaky hinges, heavy wood that pulls on the rarely treated metal. 

He feels Phil’s arms wrap around his waist. Phil’s whole body is still trembling. 

He turns the knob and pushes the door open just enough for them to slip inside. The sound is too loud, like a shrieking alarm to his ears, signaling where they are. He tries to close it more quietly, but it doesn’t work. 

They both stand there, bodies pressed against the wood. 

“Can you lock it?” Phil whispers. 

Dan feels around. There’s no lock. Fuck. Of course. He wants to cry. “No.”

“Okay,” Phil whispers, then says it again. “Okay. The phones are in the file cabinet by the far wall.”

Dan feels shaken and exposed knowing they’re just standing here. He takes a step and almost trips, Phil catching him. The moon is bright enough and the cabin is full of windows, but the light it casts doesn’t reach the floor. 

He walks more carefully, all the way to the end of the room. He can barely see anything here, but he pulls open a drawer on the filing cabinet - pens and paper, it feels like. He moves down to the next one - file folders. “Which drawer?” 

“Bottom one, I think,” Phil says. 

He tugs and it catches. Of course _that_ has a lock. “Fuck.”

“Shh,” Phil hisses.

Dan always thought it was really fucking stupid that they confiscated technology from them as soon as they arrived. He remembers arguing with one of the adult managers, who just told him that if there was an emergency there were still phones on the premise that they could use with permission. 

Fucking lot of good that does now. 

“Why the fuck is this locked?” Dan demands, still quiet but outraged enough not to be able to hold it in. “What the fuck good are emergency mobiles when you can’t get to them in a fucking emergency!”

“Dan, please.” Phil’s voice is a pitiful little whimper this time. 

Dan squats down and holds his head in his hands. This isn’t real. This can’t possibly be real. Stuff like this doesn’t actually happen. 

It’s so quiet. It’s way too quiet. He can hear the faint call of a diver in the distance. It’s always been a sound he loved, one of the sounds he always missed when he had to go back home at the end of the summer. Pigeons and crows just aren’t the same.

Now the sound is eerie. It’s just a bird, but suddenly it’s like something sinister.

It’s too quiet. There should be the sounds of drunken idiots laughing and pissing about, maybe the splashing of skinny dippers or even the whizz and bang of some shitty contraband fireworks. The few days before the kids arrive are always raucous, the counsellors getting out all their adult shenanigans before they become legally responsible for the lives of other people’s children. 

Now there’s nothing but the lonely call of the divers and the sound of Dan’s pulse racing in his ears. 

They can’t hide here forever, and the only way out is through the woods. The path is hard enough to hike in the middle of the day, at night it might as well be impossible and they don’t even have torches. 

They need to get those bloody mobiles. It’s the only way. It’s the only bloody way.

Dan hears Phil crouch down and a moment later his head in pressing against Dan’s. “Dan. Don’t give up.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Dan whispers. “We need to call the police. We need to _do_ something.”

“I know. I know.”

“Where’re the keys?” Dan asks. Phil has a few year’s counselling experience on him.

“I don’t remember.” He sounds so utterly helpless and pathetic that Dan has to look up, frowning in question. “I can’t— I can’t think.” 

“You have to, Phil. You have to fucking think. Think. Are they in another cabin? Do they—”

“Bryony,” Phil says suddenly. His hands claps over his mouth at the volume of his voice. Then, in a whisper, “Bryony has them. She’s in charge in emergencies.” 

“Bryony,” Dan repeats. He has a flash of her the last time he’d seen her, standing by the camp fire with candy floss hair glowing orange in the light on the bonfire. She’s one of the most senior counselors, terrifying and capable of being both a functional adult and of drinking them all under the table during off hours. 

He thinks about her in present tense and hope that wills it into being truth. 

“We can’t go find her,” Phil says, sounding absolutely petrified. “We can’t go out there again.”

Dan almost argues that the cabin isn’t any safer if he comes through the door. The cabin will become a cage and they won’t be able to escape. 

But he doesn’t say it, because he doesn’t want to scare Phil or himself any more. He swallows hard and says, “Alright, help me see if there’s a spare key anywhere here.” 

-

The five minutes they search feels like an eternity, and then abruptly not long enough. 

There’s another scream. It’s too close for comfort. Not directly outside of the cabin, but… close. It has to be close. 

“Dan!” The single syllable is pure panic. 

Dan’s hand flails out and lands on a spanner. He’s not sure what he plans on doing with it, but he wraps his fingers around the cold metal anyway. They both stand absolutely still like somehow that’ll shield them. 

Dan isn’t sure if he wants to hear another scream, or if he doesn’t. 

He looks around. The cabin is one room - shelves and cabinets, mostly. But - 

“Phil!” Dan has a flash of memory, of that hide and seek game. He remembers his mate that got reamed out for hiding in the cabin, for crawling into the loft space in the attic. It was a danger, the wood old and probably not strong to hold the weight of a person. They don’t even store things up there anymore, the ladder that used to lead up to it long since removed. 

But it _had_ held a person. And maybe it can hold two. There are still shelves under it. Dan puts the wrench back on the shelf and reaches up to curl his fingers around the very top shelf. 

“What are you doing?” Phil hisses, but Dan’s already pushed his body weight up. He reaches one hand up blindly. It feels solid at first, but he reaches over, over - and there’s suddenly a give. 

Dan pushes the wood covering the entry space completely away, then jumps back down to Phil. He winces at the thud his body makes. “There’s a place up there,” he says. “We can hide.” 

He doesn’t add the bit about the wood being so old. They’ll figure that out one way or another. 

He has Phil go first, watching as Phil disappears into the pure darkness. 

He can just see the soles of Phil’s shoes being pulled away when there’s another sound - a scream, pure anger, outrage. It’s close enough that the words, “Come and get me, you sadistic fuck—” ring out, shouted but in perfect clarity that wouldn’t happen if whatever scene outside were taking place on the other side of camp. 

It would be funny if not for the way it cuts off into pure silence. 

“Dan!” Phil is reaching a hand back down as Dan scrambles up. It really is a small space, narrow and sloping in on both sides. Dan’s heart is pounding in his chest as he grabs the square bit of plank that had been covering the entrance and pushes it back in place. 

The wood underneath them creaks but holds steady. Dan risks scooting backwards, stretching his legs out. It’s eerie, being able to see nothing at all, so he reaches a hand out and finds Phil. 

Their hands touch, side by side against the floor. Phil's are shaking. Dan doesn’t need to be able to see, he can feel the vibrations of adrenaline fueled energy. They probably look ridiculous, two gangly boys shoved into the tiniest crawlspace in a fucking supply cabin scared shitless and trying not to breathe too hard. 

Trying not to think too hard. 

Trying not to remember what - who - they almost tripped over on the way. Who is still laying lifeless in a pool of his own blood just one cabin away.

Phil's hand jerks with a more violent twitch. 

Dan doesn't even know if this is overstepping - but he doesn't care right now. He grabs Phil's fingers in his own. 

Phil clasps back immediately, squeezing tight. “You’re warm,” he murmurs.

“You’re cold.”

“I’m scared.” Phil squeezes so hard Dan feels the bones in his hand shift.

“Me too. I’m— fuck. I’m glad I—” He cuts himself off, sure it’s not the time for expressing thoughts like the ones he’s having. 

“What?” Phil prompts.

Dan shakes his head. “Reckon I’m just babbling to try to distract myself from… everything. It’s stupid.”

“Please,” Phil says, scooting in closer to Dan until their shoulders are crushed together. “Distract me with something stupid. Distract me from my impending panic attack.”

It’s so dark up here Dan can’t look into Phil’s face the way he’d really really like to. “I’m glad we were together. When this shit started happening, I mean. I don’t know if that’s, like, fucked up—”

“It’s not. I’m glad too. I’d probably already be dead if not—”

“Don’t fucking say that,” Dan says, voice commanding even in a whisper. “We’re not gonna start saying shit like that. You’re not dying tonight and neither I am. We have…” He takes a breath, amazed his body still has any capacity to be nervous about silliness right now. “ _I_ have… like, I have plans for us.”

“Yeah?”

Fuck, how Dan wishes he could see Phil’s face. He’s too fucked up to read Phil’s mind from just the sound of his voice tonight. “Yeah. Like getting you back in that bunk.”

“If we make it out of here I’m never coming back,” Phil says.

“Not if,” Dan corrects. “When.”

“ _When_ we get out of here,” Phil says, “you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

Dan squeezes his hand. He doesn’t have it in him to smile or feel squirmy like he knows he would in literally any other circumstance, but he still likes hearing that. “Don’t wanna get rid of you, so that’s fine by me.”

“I thought about you all year,” Phil says. “I regretted not being brave enough to kiss you every day for an entire year. I promised myself I wouldn’t be a coward this summer. And now look where we are.”

“We’re fighting for our lives,” Dan says. “You’re anything but a coward.”

“I never knew I could feel fear like this,” Phil chokes. “I can’t _breathe_.”

“I know. I know, Phil. I can’t either. But I think I— I just wouldn’t know what to do without you, I reckon. I think my brain is forcing itself to work because I’m just so fucking desperate to like, protect you.”

“I’m older,” Phil whispers. “I should be the one protecting you. I’m just dragging you down. I’m gonna end up getting us both—”

“Phil, shut up. Don’t fucking say that, I told you. We’re gonna make it out of here.”

“I was talking to Robert earlier today,” Phil says. Dan wonders if he’s even really hearing what Dan’s saying anymore. “Just like - just hours ago. He was… he was nervous about his kids trying to prank him. And now he’s… Dan, he’s _dead_.” 

Dan’s stomach sinks. “You weren’t supposed to look.”

“Didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to but I couldn’t help it. He was just… just lying there, Dan. Oh god. He was just lying there. His face. His eyes…”

“Phil. Hey. Phil.” Dan thinks about how Phil got through to him when Dan was losing it earlier. His heart is racing, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever stop, but he forces his mind clear. “Do you want to know a secret? It’s not… it’s not really a secret. I was just afraid to tell you. I thought maybe I’d wait until the last day of camp, and just - see how things were going.” 

Now that fear seems stupid. What does he have to lose? Why wait? 

He listens to Phil breathing, realizing that Phil is trying very hard not to cry. Finally he says, “What’s the secret?”

“I’m starting at Manchester University in August.” If he lives through the night. But he leaves that part out. That won’t help. “You’re still there, aren’t you? You still live near Manchester?” 

“Dan-” Phil breathes out. “Oh my god. That’s amazing. Yeah, I’m - I’m close enough.” 

It’s another one of those moments he wants to box up and save for later when he can appreciate it. 

“So.” Dan forces the shakiness out of his voice. “So we have to make it out. I need a tour guide around Manchester.”

“There’s, um. Ah.” Silence for just a beat while Phil gathers himself. “There’s a sky bar I’ll take you to. It can be our first date.”

“Yeah.” Now it’s Dan who wants to cry. “It’ll be the best date.” 

\- 

It has to have been an hour, Dan thinks. At least an hour since the last set of screams, and they haven’t heard anything else. 

Dan shifts. The wood under him groans. He goes still. 

“Phil,” he whispers. 

They’re still holding hands. Phil’s head is on his shoulder now too. 

“Yeah?” Phil whispers back. 

“I think we need to leave.” 

“No!” Phil’s voice is firm for how soft it is. “It’s safe here!” 

“Is it?” Dan asks. He hates the pit in his stomach. “It’s night now. If we try to run for the road, whoever is out there might not see us. But if we wait here all night - we’ll still have to leave at some point, and we’ll be easy to spot.” 

Phil is quiet a long time before he answers. “I don’t think I can do it.”

“We’ll do it together,” Dan promises, squeezing Phil’s hand.

“I’m clumsy,” Phil whispers. He sounds so defeated already. “I’ll fall and probably break something and you’ll have to leave me behind.”

“Never,” Dan whispers fiercely. “I’d fight for you. We’re both going to fight. We’re not going to let this cunt win.”

“I’m not a fighter.” He’s crying now, Dan can tell. “I’m a hider. Hiding is the only way I get through this.”

“Phil. Please,” Dan begs. “We need to either find Bryony or make a fucking run for it. We can’t hide forever.”

“Why not?”

Dan doesn’t have time to answer before there’s an awful cracking sound and Phil’s hand is wrenched from Dan’s. There’s a loud crash, loud on a normal night, but on this one it might as well be a jet plane taking off.

Dan fucking hates that his first thought is for the noise and not Phil who’s just fallen through the fucking ceiling. Maybe he’s a little bit in shock or something. He knows he should be checking on Phil. He should be climbing down from the crawlspace immediately before he falls through too. He should pick Phil up and haul him to safety, find a new place to hide or say fuck it all and drag Phil through the woods to the road.

But he just - lies there. He’s paralyzed. There’s no sound now, not even his own breathing. He realizes eventually it’s because he actually _isn’t_ breathing at all. He forces in a ragged breath and his head spins for the sudden oxygen.

Phil isn’t making any sound either.

Phil. _Phil_.

Dan rolls over to look through the hole in the ceiling. It’s too dark, he can’t see anything. Phil could be fucking dead and he wouldn’t even know. 

He uses the hole in the ceiling, the proper one over the bookcase, and climbs down on legs he doesn’t even trust to hold him. As soon as his feet land on the floor he hears a pathetic groan. 

“Phil-” Dan gasps, not realizing how much he needed to hear something, anything, to jar him back to reality. He scrambles over to Phil and kneels down. “Are you okay?” 

“Something’s not right,” Phil says. His voice sounds too quiet. “Something’s not okay.” 

Of course not. Nothing about this situation is okay. 

“Where?” Dan asks, feeling down Phil’s body. 

He feels sick at a specific type of sticky warmth at Phil’s thigh, but Phil pushes his hand down lower. “The wood got me a bit but I don’t think it’s that bad. It’s my ankle that hurts.” 

Dan wishes he could see. A phone would come in handy for more than one reason right now. There might even be a torch in this cabin somewhere, but fuck if he’d be able to find it right now. 

He runs his fingers blindly over Phil’s sock foot. They’re both barefoot - shoes somewhere in that cabin with Robert. At least they’d pulled their clothes back on in time. 

He can tell instantly that something isn’t right. The bone bulges out in a way it shouldn’t. “Fuck.” He suddenly remembers the noise again, the loudness of the crash. “Fuck, Phil. Can you stand? I think we need to leave.” 

“You should go,” Phil says. He’s definitely crying now. “Dan, you need to go.”

“I am not leaving you.” Dan finds Phil’s hands and tugs on him. “Come on, sit up. I’m gonna help you and we’re gonna get out of here.” 

“Where will we even go?” Phil asks, but he lets Dan help him into a standing position. “I don’t know if I can run, I don’t - ah!” 

“Are you hurt anywhere besides that?” Dan asks. He’s already making his way toward the door, carrying most of the weight of Phil’s left side. “I could feel blood.” 

“It’s just scrapes, I think,” Phil says. 

He may be lying, but Dan would rather believe that - at least until he can check for himself. Dan pulls the door open and they stop in the doorway, listening. 

Silence. Just silence. 

Why is that so terrifying? Every second feels like the next could be the moment it all goes to hell even more. 

“We should… fuck. I wish we could find Bryony. We could… try her cabin?” Dan asks, quiet voice rising with the question. 

“She’s in Pine,” Phil whispers back. “It’s one of the ones down closer to the lake.” 

The lake. Dan _hates_ the lake at night. He hates how inky black and ominous the water looks most of the time at night, and the way he’s always afraid of things in it brushing up against him. Right now every cell in his body says not to go that way, but the mobiles also seem like their safest bet to calling the police and getting out of here. 

“Okay,” Dan says, tightening his hold around Phil’s waist. “Let’s go to the lake.” 

“It’s gonna take forever,” Phil says. He sounds so dejected. “I can’t even fucking walk.”

He cursed. Phil rarely curses. For some reason that just makes Dan even more terrified. 

“You can,” Dan insists. “You are. You’re walking right now. And it doesn’t matter if it takes forever. That just means we’ll be quieter. Harder to catch.”

“We’re never gonna find her. She’s probably already dead. Everyone’s probably just like Robert now. Dead in a pool of their own—”

“Phil, fuck’s sake.” His tone is harsh on purpose. If he was in the right frame of mind he might find it ironic how their natures seem to have switched tonight. Dan can’t recall a time since childhood he would have referred to himself as an optimist, and part of what attracted him to Phil in the first place was Phil’s ability to spin anything in a hopeful light. 

Phil doesn’t say anything, so Dan continues. “Whoever this asshole is, he’s just a person, yeah? He’s a sick fuck, but still just a person. He’s not fucking Slender or something. He’s a guy. We can deal with that.” 

He pulls Phil towards the nearest cabin, praying that the sound of snapping twigs under their heavy footsteps isn’t loud enough to alert said sick fuck to where they are. 

“What are we doing?” Phil croaks. 

“Wanna keep our backs to the cabins,” Dan says. He’s already huffing from the effort of supporting so much of Phil’s weight. “Feels safer not to have them exposed.”

“Like a video game,” Phil chuckles.

Maybe Dan should find it comforting that Phil’s turning to humour, but it feels wrong. It sounds wrong in Dan’s ears, like Phil has truly given up.

“If you want, yeah. Would that help? Think of this like a game?”

He feels Phil shrug.

“We just have to be smart. And we _can’t_ give up,” Dan says emphatically. “That’s how you lose any game. You don’t win if you’ve given up. Ok?”

“Ok.”

Dan’s skin prickles every second they’re out in the open, every nerve and muscle in his body poised for attack. He might as well be naked for how exposed and vulnerable he feels, and they can only be so quiet without staying still. He keeps squeezing round Phil’s waist and dragging him along, desperate for even the facsimile of protection the cabin will give. 

They’ve a long way to go to get to Pine, at least that’s how it feels. They’ve barely been walking a minute but already Dan is out of breath and his shoulders are aching. When they finally get to it Phil slumped against the wood and Dan lets him. 

Just for a second, he thinks. Just for a second.

And then a sound, the kind that makes Dan’s heart race, the kind that’s just viscerally wrong, sets everything within him that wants to flee alight. A scream - but then something else. The scream was a woman but the noise that follows is a clearly a man. It’s an angry sound, but also pained. 

Dan’s afraid to hope that he isn’t the only one determined to fight back. If this guy is a human it stands to reason he can feel pain too. He bleeds too.

“Oh god,” Phil whimpers. “Oh god, Dan.”

“No no Phil, this is good,” Dan babbles, pulling Phil back up to keep going. “Now we know where he is. Now we know he’s not right behind us. We’ve gotta keep going.”

“It hurts.”

“Your ankle?”

Phil doesn’t answer. His head slumped against Dan’s shoulder.

“Phil!” He shouts and then immediately claps his hand over his mouth. 

Phil lifts his head. “What?”

“Where does it hurt?” Dan chokes. “What’s wrong?”

“My leg is wet.”

Suddenly Dan’s stomach turns and he has to let go of Phil before everything he ate today is coming back up. He hears Phil’s body hit the ground heavy and awful but he can’t do anything because he’s sicking violently.

They actually might not make it. He doesn’t know how to put a positive spin on what is likely Phil slowly bleeding to death.

As soon as Dan feels like he can move without his stomach staging another revolt he reaches down for Phil. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, fuck-” 

“Please go without me,” Phil says. His voice sounds thick and small and sad. “Please get out of here.” 

“I can’t, I’m not-” 

Dan stops talking. There’s a rustling nearby, too close by. 

He kneels and covers Phil’s hand with his mouth. Maybe, maybe if it’s him, if they just stay so quiet…

“Phil?” A voice whispers. 

It definitely doesn’t belong to whoever was wearing this boots earlier. Dan isn’t thinking clearly enough to place it, but somehow Phil is. 

“Bryony?” Phil whispers back. 

She creeps around from behind the corner of the cabin they’re against. “Oh my god. I thought everyone was dead.” 

“We did too,” Phil says, then sits up and props himself against the cabin wall. 

“What’s happening? Who is that?” Dan asks. 

“I… I don’t know. It’s awful - I saw him - there was so much- he walked right up to the campfire and he had this… huge thing, a machete and we all thought - we thought it was just someone having a laugh, but.” Bryony is shaking. There are leaves in her hair and mascara is smeared down her face. “I was trying to get to the cabin with our phones, I have the keys - I gave PJ the one to the welcome cabin, there’s a landline phone there. But I don’t know… I don’t know if…”

Phil reaches out and grabs her hand. “Someone will get there. It’ll be okay.” 

It’s the opposite of what Phil had been saying a moment ago. Dan doesn’t know if it’s just Phil’s own soothing nature kicking in in the face of Bryony’s panic, or if he really believes it, but he still likes hearing that better than the darkness of before. 

“We were trying to find you,” Dan says. “But I don’t know if the supply cabin is safe now.” 

She gives him a look of dread and confusion. “Why-” 

She doesn’t get to finish the sentence. There’s a sound, a door opening… inside the cabin that they’re right beside. Dan hopes wildly that it might just be another camper, but the heavy thud of footfalls tell him that it’s not. 

Bryony starts to shake her head rapidly, and then just bolts. She doesn’t say a word to them, just takes off at a full run. She’s going in the direction Dan and Phil had come in, but Dan knows that isn’t an option for them. He feels sick as he hears the heavy feet following her.

He reaches down and grabs Phil. “We have to go,” he says, and knowing that they’re too visible along the paths now, he turns toward the woods. 

“He’s going to kill her,” Phil whispers. His voice is pure agony, but it’s weak. Dan’s honestly not sure how much longer he’s going to last. Soon he’ll have lost too much blood to carry on at all and then they’ll be well and truly fucked.

“He won’t,” Dan says forcefully. “She’s a tough bird, way tougher than us and you know it. She’ll claw that motherfucker’s eyes out if he gets near her. She’ll kick his balls right up inside his body.”

“I don’t… feel good.” That’s all Phil can say. 

“I know, Phil. That’s why we need to go. Right now. C’mon.” He hauls Phil up with strength he didn’t know he had and grips his waist as tight as he can. Phil slumps against him but at least he moves his feet. He’s still fighting for now.

“She’ll get to the phones and we’ll get to the road,” Dan says. “She’ll be ok.”

He wants to believe it. He’s determined to believe it. 

They manage to make it just into the woods before Phil’s head drops down against Dan’s again and his dead weight becomes too much for Dan to carry. They both fall to the ground and Dan feels something sharp scratch along his side but he manages not to cry out.

He doesn’t waste time. He slaps Phil in the face full on, just like Phil had done for him earlier. “Phil! Wake the fuck up, mate.”

Phil’s eyes fly open. “What—”

“You can’t sleep yet, Phil. We have to run.”

Phil nods, but Dan sees him reach down to touch his leg. In the sickly thin light of the moon Dan can see that Phil’s hand is wet and dark when he lifts it up.

“Oh god,” Phil whimpers. “I’m gonna die.”

“You’re not. We’re getting out of here.” He has an idea and goes for it without a second thought, scrambling to pull his shirt off and rip it in half. Adrenaline is a powerful thing, and the material splits like it was paper.

“What are you…”

Dan ignores him, fitting the shirt high up under Phil’s thigh and bringing the ends round to the front. He doesn’t even know where Phil’s bleeding from. He doesn’t know if this will work but he has to try. He ties the ends together and pulls as tight as he can.

Phil cries out and Dan covers his mouth harshly. “Phil… Phil, please.” He realizes then that he’s crying, his words coming out in tortured little sobs. “Stay with me. Please. Stay.”

Phil’s eyes are wide. He nods.

“We have to run now,” Dan says. “I know it hurts but we have to run. Bryony’s going to call the police. Maybe PJ already has. We have to get to the road. We can’t let this guy win. You can’t let him take you from me.” He lifts his hand off Phil’s mouth. 

“Ok,” Phil says, and Dan thinks he’s not imaging that he already sounds a little stronger. “Let’s run.”

He gets Phil back up on his feet, and they both stand there listening, waiting, for a beat. 

It sounds quiet, with the kind of quiet night time wilderness sounds that already haunted Dan’s sleep, the kinds that are lovely to listen to from safe inside a building but terrifying to be out in.

The birds and the crickets aren’t nearly as scary as what else there could be now, though. He does a quick look around and he thinks he knows what direction they should be going in, so he starts to guide Phil along. He keeps it slow for a few steps, just to make sure Phil won’t fall again, and then he whispers, “Go.” 

He loses track of everything except the ground that his feet are covering. He can hear the pained noises Phil makes beside him but Phil doesn’t slow down. 

His own lungs are burning, every muscle aching, a stitch in his side so painful he feels like he might crack in half. He’s never been fit, never thought it mattered. Camp activities are pretty much the only exercise he gets all year. He supposes it’s a grim, mocking sort of irony that this year is no different.

He’s not sure what they’re doing can even be considered running, but they’re trying. They’re trying so fucking hard. Branches are snapping under their feet and whipping them in the face. He risks a look behind him and he can’t see any signs of the camp anymore, just darkness and the faint hints of trees.

God he fucking hates trees. He always has, but now he _really_ does. Their branches are clawing at his skin, tripping them, slowing their progress with every step.

Phil falls a lot. Dan’s heart leaps with panic every time, always afraid this will be the time he doesn’t get back up. He does, he always does, with Dan’s help.

They don’t speak. All their energy, all their breath now is conserved for running, for getting as far away from camp as they can, as close to the road as they can before they have nothing left to give. 

They don’t even know if they’re being chased. The sounds of their own footsteps are loud, the sound of Dan’s blood in his ears too loud to hear anything else.

Or so he thinks, until he hears it - a scream. Another horrible, spine chilling wail ringing out in the night.

It’s Bryony. He has no doubt. It still sounds too close. Surely it should be farther away by now.

Phil stops dead and Dan almost falls for being jerked to a halt.

“We have to go back,” Phil says. “We can’t leave her.”

Dan’s sure if he makes it to morning he’ll hate himself for the fact that he doesn’t consider it for even a split second. He doesn’t even speak, just yanks on Phil’s waist to keep him going.

Phil doesn’t fight it, but Dan can hear him crying. 

They keep running. Dan feels sick listening to Phil’s empathy and regret wrack through him. This man is good, he thinks. He’s good in a way Dan wasn’t sure people could actually be. 

They’re going to make it. He lets that play on a loop in his brain to block out the pain and the fear and the sound of Phil’s anguish. They’re going to make it. The world needs Phil. Phil needs to live. 

Dan waits until Phil’s sobs quiet to say, “She’s a fighter.” He can’t say anything else. He can’t make any promises, but he can remind Phil of that at least. 

She’s a fighter, and he’s just a man. 

Hopefully she just got to the phones before… before whatever happened. 

Phil stumbles again and goes down on his knee, on the bad leg. His cry is loud even though he’s clearly trying to muffle it. 

Dan drops to his knees too. “Phil?” 

He finds Phil’s face with his hands. Phil’s cheeks are wet and his whole body is shaking violently now. 

“I can’t,” Phil gasps. “Dan, I can’t.” 

“You can,” Dan says. He leans forward and kisses Phil on the mouth. There’s nothing of passion in it, not in the same way their kisses before had been. It’s something stronger, something more desperate. He tastes salt when he pulls away. “Sky bar, remember?” 

Phil’s fingers grab at Dan’s shoulders, at his neck, and he leans forward into Dan. Dan gives him a moment to just cling, and he clings back. 

“Okay,” Phil says, using his hold on Dan to try and hoist himself up. “My whole leg hurts like cold.” 

Dan only had the cursory first aid courses all the counselors have to take, but he doesn’t think that sounds good. He doesn’t think the clamminess of Phil’s skin is good either. He has a feeling that if he could see Phil properly his skin would be too pale, paler than it already is. 

“We’re almost there,” Dan says. Phil can’t push himself up so instead Dan stands and just hauls him up, not unlike a giant sack of potatoes. 

He’s lying, bald-faced. He’s got no idea where they are or if they’re even headed in the right direction. It’s so dark and he’s so scared. He’s trying to ignore the fact that he can feel the adrenaline starting to wane. He can feel the beginnings of despair, the sickening acceptance of the futility of their struggle beginning to sink in. 

He can only imagine how Phil feels.

He has to keep fighting. For Phil. For Bryony. For anyone else who may still be alive back at camp. He can’t give up. Giving up means losing the game, and he fucking hates to lose.

They cling to each other as they push on. It can’t even generously be called running anymore. They’re trudging, stumbling. Crawling. Dan’s feet are raw. His socks are wet with blood and they stick to the soles with every step.

He’s going to die. This is likely where his life is going to end, one way or another.

This is the thought that keeps pushing at him. He doesn’t want to let it in. He’s trying to block it out. 

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t need them open anyway. They’re not seeing anything. They’re not helping him. Nothing can help him. He’s doomed. They’re doomed to this forest and this pain and this unending horror. 

And then - a noise. It’s distant, not human. It’s not coming from behind them. It’s not a scream.

It comes from somewhere ahead. Somewhere far, far ahead, but it’s getting closer, he thinks. It’s slowly getting louder. A high pitched hum. Something about it sounds urgent.

“Dan,” Phil says. “Dan. Look.”

Dan opens his eyes to something cutting a thin line of colour through the thickness of the trees. The line is moving, the colour changing, trading between red and blue and getting brighter with every passing moment, the sound getting louder.

“Dan.”

Sirens, he realizes finally. The lights of police cars. The sound and sight most people dread, the sound and sight that mean a ticket or a scramble to hide the stash. 

Tonight they’re the sound and sight of hope. Tonight they’re a bloody miracle.

They’re still far away. Dan knows he wouldn’t be able to shout loud enough to be heard. The forest is thick and dark. They have to keep going. They have to keep fighting.

“She did it,” Phil whispers. “She fucking did it, Dan.” 

The game isn’t over yet. They haven’t won, but Dan’s not going to give up. He’s alive, Phil is alive, and hope is winding its way through the narrow roads towards them. This is one game they’re not going to lose.

**Author's Note:**

> [Read and reblog on tumblr here!](https://waveydnp.tumblr.com/post/182350494637/camp-crystal-lake-m-82k-summary-something-isnt)


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